When I Needed You Most.

No one even notices Nate. They never do.

Today he sits on the maroon carpeted hallway of the low budget motel the band were forced to stay in, cross legged, toying with the white wires of his headphones.

For all the attention passers by pay him, it's like a crying boy is a regular sight for them.

He bites and savages his lower lip as he sits there, tear after tear falling down the flushed pink of his cheeks. He fiddles with the white strings leading to his ears; oddly mystified by the way the twist and twirl together, entwined no matter how hard he tries to untangle them.

He looses count of how many times his own band walk past him. He may as well be in exile. He knows it's because he's different. Because the rest of the band all stand out, and he's just stuck there in the back. He's amazed fans even know he exists.

Vicky-T is the only girl, so she's unique in every way, Gabe is the loud, obnoxious one, Ryland is the really obscenely tall one, and Alex is the Spanish one.

Nate has none of that. And he hates himself for it.

All four of them barely acknowledge his presence as they sail past him to sound check. He doesn't move. They'll be fine without him.

There's a pain in his wrists as he drums that night, Alex managed to sweet talk him into it. There's a dull, stabbing ache that Nate blocks out, staring into the crowd of people there to see the other four people on stage, hollow brown eyes barely even seeing in the first place.

He leaves the stage that night and collapses, sobbing. No one understands him, and as far as he can tell, no one ever will. He's slumped against a disused amplifier, the tears are there again, as he twiddles and chews on those two white wires.

This time, Alex's eyes work, and for the first time, someone notices Nate.

Alex goes over, and looks nervously at the Southerner. He'd be lying if he said he hadn't noticed something was wrong. Nate's head was back against the casing of the amplifier, chocolate orbs staring blankly, scarily, into the bleak beyond. His legs are spread, into an almost perfect right angle. The white wires trail from his ears to his pocket, and he's twisting them between shaking fingers, rubbing them with worn fingertips.

Nate's eyes flicker to Alex, and in the half light of backstage, Alex notices the fresh wave of tears tracing the tracks worn and worn by every last droplet that came before it. The water courses down his delicate cheeks, the fading tracks gleaming even more as they become rejuvenated by a new stream.

Alex crouches down, and embraces Nate, lifting him up bridal style. Nate's aching limbs lock around Alex's neck, and before either of them notice, Nate is sobbing into Alex's shoulder, his face crumbling, voice barely recognizable among the crying.

"I've got you, I've got you." Alex repeated, mouth close to the younger's ear, breath hot against Nate's skin.

Alex makes sure Nate is safe that night; he stayed with him.

He noticed that Nate is beautiful when he sleeps, eyes flickering shut, a blissful smile fixed on his features. His hair is matted, and the blond dye is growing out beyond belief, but Alex can't believe he never noticed Nate's beauty before now.

Nate cries in his sleep, Alex discovers. He screams and sobs, crying out for the pain to stop, please, if there's a God, make this pain stop. He paws at the headphone wires, uneasy even in slumber. Alex pulls him to his chest, and as if by magic, Nate stops. He just stops.

When he wakes, he finds Alex's strong arms gripping him tight. He buries his face in Alex's warm chest, and Alex flattens the messy dirty blond of his hair affectionately. He kissed his forehead gently, playing with the baby strands of his fringe.

"It's okay, I got you. I'll never let them forget you again. Never."